


Blood Brothers

by clgfanfic



Category: The Quest (TV)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-09
Updated: 2012-11-09
Packaged: 2017-11-18 06:45:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/558049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clgfanfic/pseuds/clgfanfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Morgan finally makes Quintin his brother in all ways.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood Brothers

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the zine Compadres #11.

The Beaudine brothers rode hard along the front range of the Rocky Mountains, heading steadily south as they chased shadows, hints, and rumors for nearly six months.  And still they had no news of their sister Patricia.

          Quintin glanced sidelong at his younger brother, admiring the way the blond-haired man handled his Indian pony and wondering if he would ever feel as comfortable on horseback.  Not that he wasn't a damned fine horseman himself, but Morgan looked like he'd been born astride.

          "I don't know about you, brother, but I'm hungry enough to eat a horse."

          Morgan's head snapped around, pale blue eyes wide.  "You would eat a horse?"

          Quintin grinned and shook his head.  Sometimes Morgan was just too damned literal.  Must be an Indian thing, he guessed.  "It's just an expression," he assured the younger man.  "But I am hungry.  How 'bout you?"

          "Yes," Morgan replied.  "I am hungry, too.  We will make camp soon."

          "How far?"

          "Not far."

          Quintin had already learned that 'not far' meant that it was as far as it was.  He shook his head.  The Cheyenne had a very different way of looking at the world than the white man, and his brother, having lived among them for ten years, happily embraced that worldview.  And not for the first time Quintin wished he understood both Morgan and the Cheyenne better.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Nearly three hours later Quintin swung down off his horse, grateful to be able to close his legs again.  He unsaddled the lanky gelding and rubbed the animal down with a thick tuft of prairie grass.  Not that the bay noticed or cared, too interested in cropping the tender green blades that sprang up in abundance to appreciate the effort.  Morgan's buckskin stallion grazed nearby, leather hobbles keeping him from wandering too far.

          With nothing to do, Quintin watched his brother set up their camp, quickly and efficiently.  He had also learned to stay out of the way at times like this, and was content to enjoy the beauty of the land they passed through.  Spring was slowly taking over, turning the hillsides and flatlands green while the trees still stood bare among the scattered pine.  Birdsong filled the air, and here and there, patches of flowers decorated the green with bursts of color.

          When he was done, Morgan stood and stretched.  "I will go find some game."

          "Want me to come along?"

          "No," Morgan said quickly, but a smile shadowed his lips.  "You make so much noise the rabbits from here to Kansas know you are coming."

          Quintin made a face, but was grateful for the time to sit and rest.  He could clean the Sharps.  "Fine, but make mine a big rabbit, okay?  I'm starving."

          Morgan's eyes narrowed as he studied his brother's tall, lean frame.  "You?  Starving?"

          Quintin chuckled.  "I'm just hungry, real hungry."

          That seemed to satisfy the blond and with a noncommittal grunt, he turned and headed off.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Quintin wasn't sure when he'd finally dozed off in front of the small campfire, but it was solidly dark when a heavy thud woke him.  Morgan lay sprawled in the grass not far away, several whip marks crisscrossing his bare back.

          Glancing up, Quintin found five men standing around them, all looking like they'd tangled with an angry mountain lion.  Each sported bruises, cut lips, and two had bloody noses.

 _Morgan put up one helluva fight_ , he thought, pride pressing against his ribs.  _But it cost him…_

          "Hel'o, City Boy," one of the men said in a thick French accent.

          Quintin ignored the big. black-haired man, moving over to Morgan and examining the still-bleeding whip marks and the bruises spreading along the man's sides.  Pulling off his jacket, he laid it on the ground, then rolled Morgan over onto the material.  More bruises blossomed across the man's abdomen and both corners of his mouth were torn.

          He looked up at the men.  "What the hell did you do this for?"

          "I don't like Indians, City Boy.  Especially white Indians,"  the accented man said.

          "You don't—"

          "Do you like Indians, Earl?" the Frenchman asked.

          "Naw, Red, I don't like 'em much," a black-toothed grin spread his lips.  "'Cept'n the squaws."

          "Charlie, Nick, Billy, do you boys like Indians?" Red asked.

          "Nope."

          "No, Red."

          "Not me."

          Red flashed Quintin a broad smile.  "You see, we don't like Indians."

          "He's not an Indian," Quintin hissed.  "You can see he's white."

          "Acts like every Injun I ever seen," Earl replied.

          Morgan groaned softly, his legs moving weakly.  The blue eyes fluttered opened and he lay still, looking up at Quintin.

          "Take it easy, Morgan," he said softly, glancing around at the men, anger burning in his throat.  He looked back down at his brother, who was unconscious again.

          "At least he knows how to hunt," the man Red called Nick said, walking over to skin and clean the four rabbits Morgan had managed to bring down.

          Quintin worked on his brother as the men cooked the animals and ate.  _Medical school comes in handy out here more than I expected_ , he silently told his brother.

          "What're we gonna do with 'em?" he heard Earl ask.

          "We will take them south, see what we can trade for them," Red replied around a bite of the hot meat.

          Quintin licked his lips and swallowed hard, his stomach rumbling.

          "Whatdaya think we'll get fer 'em?" Billy, the youngest of the gang, asked.

          "A couple of horses, maybe a squaw," Red replied.

          "Hot damn!" Billy said, slapping his leg.  "We ain't had us a squaw-gal in a long spell."

          "Charlie," Red instructed.  "You and Billy take the first watch.  Nick and Earl will spell you."

          "We gonna feed 'em?" Earl asked.

          Red grinned.  "Oui, give them the scraps."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          In the morning Quintin was roughly placed on his horse and tied into the saddle.  Morgan's buckskin was tethered to his saddle horn, but the younger man's hands were tied, the rope tethered to Red's saddle horn.

          "You can't make him walk," Quintin argued.  "He lost some blood and—"

          "City Boy," Red interrupted., "he will not be walking, he will be running."  He reined the horse around and started forward.  "And if he gets tired, I will drag him."  With that Red kicked his stocky roan into a trot, Morgan jogging along behind.

          He glanced up at Quintin as he passed by, flashing him a reassuring smile.  It didn't work.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Quintin watched as Morgan was half-dragged or dragged through the grass.  He had managed to keep up for half the day while they traveled over flat ground, but as Red moved them closer to the foothills the ground became more broken and uneven, bushes, rocks, and roots tripping him.  By the time Red called for them to stop for the night, Morgan could no longer stand as was dragged into the site the man picked for their camp.

          When they cut Quintin free, he slid off his saddle and headed straight for Morgan, who lay, panting for breath.  Some of the whip cuts had broken open, staining his tan buckskin shirt a deep red.

          He knelt down, gently touching the man's shoulder.  "Morgan, you all right?"

          "I have had much better days," Two Persons replied, forcing himself up to his hands and knees.

          Red walked over, clamping a hand on Quintin's shoulder and tossing him aside. Earl and Nick joined the big Frenchman, lifting Morgan to his feet.  Charlie took a rope and bound the young man's hands, then tossed it over a thick branch of an old cottonwood.

          Charlie, Nick, and Earl worked, pulling Morgan up until he was suspended several inches off the ground, then tied off the rope.

          Quintin scrambled to his feet.  "What are you doing?" he demanded.  "Cut him down!"

          He lunged for Red, but Billy and Earl intercepted him, pounding their fists into his ribs.  With a gasping breath, he collapsed into the grass and heaved.

          "You are but a boy here in the wilderness, City," Red said, amusement clear in his tone.  He waved and Earl and Charlie left.  "Do not push me too far, or you will join your Indian brother."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          An hour and after several distant shots later, Earl and Charlie returned carrying five rabbits, which they skinned, cleaned, and cooked.  As the men sat down to eat, Red waved Quintin over to join them.  "Hey, City, come and eat some rabbit."

          Quintin glanced up at his brother.  "I'll try and talk them out of something for you."

          "Don't bother."

          Quintin walked over and sat down as far away from the men as possible.  Billy handed him a plate and a cup of coffee.  "What about my brother?" he demanded.

          "If'n we got any scraps left, we'll give 'em to 'im just like we would any other dog," Earl said.

          "He's no dog, you bastard!" Quintin yelled, lunging at the man, his plate flying off into the dirt.

          Nick stood and grabbed Quintin's shoulders.  The young physician shook him off and stalked angrily over to Morgan.  Billy followed him, keeping a watchful on every move.

          Reaching up, Quintin felt for Morgan's pulse, then gently turned him around to check his back.  The blond groaned slightly, but didn't wake up.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Days passed, always with the same routine.  Up, run, stop.  Up, run, stop… On the fifth night, Quintin knew he had to do something, or Morgan was going to die.

          He'd watched his brother's strength slowly fail over the days, a combination of lack of food, loss of blood, and the almost constant running.  And the night before Earl and Charlie had beaten Morgan when he'd lashed out at them as they tried to suspended him again.  At least Red had relented and let Morgan spend the night on the ground.

          They stopped again for the night, Morgan collapsing heavily.  Earl and Nick moved to tie him up, but Quintin stepped forward.  "No.  You're _not_ tying him up, and you _are_ going to feed him, or he's going to die."

          Nick rubbed his beard-stubbled chin.  "He's got a point, Red.  We can't get us a squaw fer just one."

          Red grunted and walked away.

          Quintin watched him go, wondering why it was so important to the man that Morgan break before they reached the Indians they intended to sell them to.  With a softly muttered curse, he marched to his horse and removed his bedroll, using that to make Morgan a little more comfortable, then set to work cleaning his back and the other cuts he'd sustained over the course of the day.  When he was satisfied that the wounds were cleaned and tended the best he could, he walked to the campfire and fixed two plates of beans, ignoring the men's stares and soft chuckles, carrying them back to join his brother.

          Morgan was awake, having moved to sit an lean against a tree trunk.

          "Here," Quintin said, handing Morgan the plate.  "Eat it fast, before they change their minds."

          Morgan nodded and quickly devoured the salty meal.

          Quintin set to work on his own meal, glancing regularly at the men.  "Morgan, what are we going to do?" he asked quietly.

          "Two Persons," the younger Beaudine corrected, preferring his Indian name.

          "Sorry, but that doesn't answer my question."

          "We wait, until the time is right, then we escape."

          "Escape?" Quintin repeated softly, his attention now focused on his brother.  "Are you crazy?  You're close to exhausted now."

          The blond leveled his brother with a look that said he was about as observant as a babe.  Quintin had seen the look before, usually just before Morgan launched into a speech about the Indian way and why it was so much better than the white man's.

          "It is an act, Quintin."

          "What?"

          "An act, to make then think I am weaker than I am."

          "You are weak," Quintin replied in a low hiss.

          "Quintin, the Cheyenne run down their horses.  We run for days to trail buffalo.  I am fine.  My back is sore and I am hungry, but that's not important."

          "Not important?"  Quintin leaned forward, his voice a soft, but intense whisper. "Why didn't you tell me this before?  I've been worried sick."

          "I could not.  They watch us too closely.  And do not let them know.  I am depending on this to save us.  You do not want to become a slave.  You would not like what they will do to us."

          Quintin nodded, understanding the danger they were in.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          They continued on, and each day Quintin watched his brother grow weaker and weaker over the day – Morgan continually forced to reassure him every evening that he was fine.

          "Tomorrow we make our escape," Two Persons finally said as they bedded down.

          "How?" Quintin asked.  "They keep me tied up and you running."

          "I have waited as long as I can.  We are in Kiowa territory.  If one of the bands at war with the Cheyenne find us with these men, they will kill us, or make slaves of us."  Morgan fell silent, then groaned painfully, his head rolling from side to side.

          "What're you two talkin' 'bout?" Earl demanded.

          Morgan began to mumble in Cheyenne.

          "Easy, Morgan.  Take it easy," Quintin said, giving his brother's arms a reassuring squeeze.  "I don't know what he's saying," he told the man.  "I don't speak Cheyenne."

          "All right," the cowboy mumbled.  "But keep 'im quiet or we'll string 'im up."

          Two Persons waited until Earl wandered back to the campfire before he said, "Just watch me tomorrow, and go along with whatever I do, no matter how crazy it looks, all right?"

          "All right," Quintin agreed.  "But be careful."

          The blond grinned.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          The sun rose as they made their way along a shallow creek, Morgan running easily behind Red's horse.  Quintin watched his brother carefully, waiting for the promised sign, but there was nothing and he finally settled back to wait.

          Morgan delayed until they moved onto open, level ground, then began to stumble.  He fell, was dragged, then reclaimed his feet, only to stumble again.  Red glanced over his shoulder and smiled.

          After several minutes, Morgan went stiff, screamed and fell forward in convulsions.

          Quintin's mouth fell open and his eyes went wide.  "Quick!  Get me down!  Get me down from here, now!"

          "So soon?" Red replied with a chuckle as he watched.

          "Do you want him to die?  Get me down, damn it!"

          Earl climbed off his horse and cut Quintin free, looking nervously from Red to the thrashing captive.

          Scrambling off his gelding, Quintin ran to his brother's side, leaning over to place his lips close to his brother's ear.  "Morgan?" he hissed.  "Morgan, is this it?"

          "Two Persons, damn it," was the hotly whispered reply.

          Quintin had to stifle a smile as he rocked back and looked to Red.  Before he could speak he noticed several Indians standing around them.  "Mor— Uh, Two Persons," he said.  "I think we're in some trouble here."

          Morgan stopped his thrashing and glanced up, then back to his brother.  "You are right."

          "Stand up!" snapped a commanding voice.

          Morgan and Quintin complied.  Quintin untied his brother's hands as the Indians took the men's weapons and horses.  As soon as he was free, Morgan turned to face the speaker.  A tall, dignified man stood, his war spear in his hand.  Their gazes locked and the man nodded.

          "What are you doing with these white eyes?" he asked Two Persons in broken Cheyenne.

          "This one is my brother of the womb," he replied, nodding at Quintin.  "As for the others…"  He dipped his head and grinned.  "…I was waiting for a good time to kill them."

          "Why are you not with Lone Wolf and your people?"

          "My people were killed.  I was spared because of the color of my hair," Two Persons explained.  "Lone Wolf and a few braves were released from Fort Laramie, but they have turned renegade.  The Army sent for my white brother and he came."

          "To take you back to the white world?"

          "No, to live here, in the open places, in peace."

          "Why are you in our territory?"

          "These dogs," Two Persons snarled, then spat.  "They thought to trade us for horses and a woman.  I was going to kill them when you found us."

          "I saw your ploy," the man said.  "A good one.  They are fools and would have died.  You are a brave warrior, Two Persons.  I thank you for sparing them.  Now my women will have a target for their grief."  He glanced at Quintin.  "You and your brother are free to go, but first you will come and be welcomed at my lodge for food and smoke.  Now that you are no longer of the Elk Lodge, I will make you my brother.  A warrior needs to have a people.  Yours are gone, but mine are strong.  You are welcome."

          "You do me great honor," Two Persons said.  "But I have no gifts to pay the proper respect."

          The man smiled.  "You have already given me a great gift, Two Persons."  He gestured at the men.  "These men."

          The blond grinned.  "Then I accept, if my brother may accompany me.  He is a white man, but he is a powerful healer."

          The man's black eyebrows arched gracefully.  "A healer?  Then maybe you can give me a greater gift than these white dogs."

          "Ask."

          "My wife's mother is ill, and the healer's medicine is not strong."

          "I will ask my brother, but I know his answer.  He will do whatever he can.  It is an obsession with him."

          The man turned to his warriors and spoke rapidly.

          "What was all that?" Quintin asked, stepping closer to his brother.

          "They will let us go," Morgan replied.  "But first we will go to their camp.  There's an old woman there who is sick."

          "Sick?" Quintin asked, his doctor's instincts springing to the fore.  "What's wrong with her?"

          Morgan sighed and shook his head.  "If they knew that they would have healed her themselves already.  Will you look?"

          Quintin nodded, then asked, "Is there something more?"

          Morgan met his brother's worried gaze.  "He will make me a part of his people since I have lost my own."

          "You mean you'll be staying with—"

          "No, but if we have to, we will have someplace to come to now."

          "Me, too?"

          Morgan nodded.  "You are my brother.  I will be his."

          "A blood brother, ay?" Red snarled.  "That savage wouldn't know what it means to be a man's brother.  He is an animal."

          Morgan lunged at Red, catching him around the neck with the crook of his elbow and slowly applying pressure.  The man's arms flailed wildly, trying to free himself.

          "Morgan, no!" Quintin yelled.

          The war chief turned, watching as Two Persons choked the Frenchman into sleep.  He knew the young Cheyenne would not kill the man, that would be for his women, and Two Persons would not rob them of their expression of grief.

          The warriors moved quickly, tying the white men into their saddles, then mounted.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          When they reached the Kiowa camp, the war chief handed Two Persons back his knife, the blond immediately returning it to the scabbard on his belt.

          "Come, let us eat," the man said.

          Morgan and Quintin followed the man to one of the largest lodges in the camp. "What's his name?" Quintin whispered.

          "They call him Iron Horse," Morgan said as they stepped inside the lodge.

          After a large meal and a smoke Quintin was escorted to see the old woman while Two Persons rested before the ceremony.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          The bonfire snapped noisily as the women danced.  Morgan and Iron Horse sat together on a hand-woven blanket in front of the warrior's lodge.  Quintin sat behind Morgan and to his right, watching with obvious curiosity.

          An old man approached, the medicine man, Quintin guessed.  The aged Kiowa chanted what sounded like a prayer over the two men.  That done, he reached gnarled brown fingers into a hide pouch he wore slung over one shoulder and removed two wooden cups and a short, thin knife with a beaded handle.

          Morgan and Iron Horse extended their left hands, the old man making a small cut between the wrist and the little finger on each man and allowing several drops of their blood to fall into each of the cups.  Reaching back into the pouch, he removed several leaves and handed them to the men, who chewed them, then rubbed the crushed plant matter into their cuts.

          The medicine man chanted over the cups, then gestured to a younger man, who stepped forward and filled each with a liquid – Quintin unable to tell if it was water or something else.  He watched the old man bring the two men's hands together, then bind them with a loose leather thong.  Morgan and Iron Horse shifted so they knelt in front of each other.  The medicine man raised their bound hands over their heads, then handed each one of the cups.  He chanted and waved an eagle's claw around them as they drank the contents.

          A thought hit Quintin low in the gut.  This stranger, this Indian man, was more a brother to Morgan, to Two Persons, than he was.  And the realization saddened him.

          Morgan and Iron Horse lowered their hands and the medicine man cut the thong, sending it into the dirt.  Using the tip of his ceremonial knife, the old man flicked the thong into the fire, where it burned.

          "We are now brothers of blood," Iron Horse stated.  "You are welcome here, Two Persons, my brother."

          "It is good," Two Persons replied.  "Thank you, my brother."

          Iron Horse stood and the drums fell silent.  "My people, welcome my brother, Two Persons."

          A cry went up among the people and Quintin couldn't help but jump slightly.

          Morgan spoke quietly and quickly to Iron Horse, glancing occasionally toward Quintin, and the older Beaudine wondered what he was up to.

          The Kiowa smiled and nodded.

          Morgan motioned Quintin to join him, and he climbed to his feet and walked over to Morgan.  "What's wrong?"

          "Quintin," the blond said, then paused, unsure of how to say what he wanted to.

          "What?"

          He looked up.  "I want you to do the ceremony with me."

          "What ceremony?"

          "This one.  The brothers ceremony."

          "I don't understand," Quintin said.

          Morgan looked up, his gaze imploring Quintin to understand.  "We are brothers, because we share a common mother…"  He trailed off, looking for the right words.  "We were made by the same parents and for ten years we lived like brothers, but then we lived ten years apart.  There are things now that will never be the same between us.  We are new men, new brothers, but I do not want to ride alone anymore.  I want us to ride together, to learn from each other, to be brothers again.  We have the same blood, but our spirits are different.  This ceremony will join our spirits.  I don't know how to tell you…"

          Quintin felt stunned.  He knew that Morgan only tolerated him most of the time, and now he was saying that he wanted them to be family again?  He really did have a lot to learn about this man… Two Persons.

          "Will you do it?"

          "Yes.  Yes, I will."

          Iron Horse called the medicine man over and spoke to him.  The old man grunted and waddled off, returning a short time later.  He pointed to the woven blanket and the two brothers took up positions on it.  He chanted his opening prayer, then removed new ceremonial items.

          Morgan and Quintin extended their left hands, the old man making the same small cuts and allowing several drops of their blood to fall into each of the cups.  Reaching into his pouch, he removed more of the leaves and handed them to the men.  Quintin hesitated, but forced them into his mouth and chewed.  The flavor was slightly familiar and not at all unpleasant.  When he felt the leaves go pasty he rubbed the concoction into the cut.  It stung slightly, but cut the pain almost immediately.

          The medicine man chanted over the cups, then gestured to his assistant, who stepped forward and filled them.  It was water, Quintin realized.

          The old man reached out, taking their cut hands and joining them before wrapping both with another leather thong.  Morgan shifted and so did Quintin until they knelt in front of each other.  The medicine man raised their hands over their heads, then handed them each a cup.  He chanted, waving the eagle's claw around them as they drank.  Quintin was surprised to find the blood/water drink almost tasteless.

          Morgan drew their hands down so the medicine man could cut the thong, sending it into the dirt.  Using the tip of his knife, the old man flicked the second thong into the fire, where it burned.

          "All that is negative and bad between us burns away," Morgan said.  "All that is good has been given a new birth, a new spirit."

          Morgan stood and faced Iron Horse.  "Brother," he said.  "This is Quintin Beaudine, my brother.  Is he welcome?"

          "He is welcome," Iron Horse replied, taking a step forward to offer his hand to Quintin.

          The gesture was hesitant, but Quintin appreciated the nod to his culture and took the man's hand, giving it a firm shake.  "Thank you."

          Iron Horse moved away and Morgan took his place.  "Thank you, also," the blond said, and this time he really meant it.

          "Any time, little brother," Quintin replied, offering his hand.

          Morgan took it and Quintin pulled the smaller man into a hug.  He felt Morgan stiffened slightly, but then he relaxed and returned the gesture before taking a step back.

          He grinned.  "Now I will teach you how to dance."

          "Dance?" Quintin echoed.

          Two Persons nodded.  "Come.  It is easy."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "What are they going to do to Red and the others?" Quintin asked the next morning as they readied their horses for travel.

          "You do not want to know.  But they will die slowly."

          "But—"

          "No, Quintin.  They would go on killing – Indians, white men, women of both people.  How many have they already killed?"

          "We don't know—"

          "Those men deserve to die, Quintin.  The laws here are different."

          "I guess," Quintin said, but he didn't sound convinced.  He climbed into his saddle and watched Morgan roll easily onto his pony's back.

          "They have hurt Iron Horse's people.  The women will kill them to put their grief to rest," Morgan explained as they rode from the camp.

          Quintin gave Iron Horse a wave, then kicked his horse into a lope without looking back.  Morgan stayed at his side.  Several minutes later he asked, "So, where do we look for Patricia now?"

          "North," Morgan replied.  "Iron Horse would have told me if Patricia was in his territory."

          Quintin nodded.  "All right, then let's ride… brother."

          Morgan grinned and urged his horse into a gallop.

The End


End file.
